


is it killing you, like it's killing me?

by a24kuroo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Pining, Post Break-up, Sad Atsumu, the T rating is just bc of the drinking, they are just dummies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a24kuroo/pseuds/a24kuroo
Summary: Usually, it’s not so bad. They typically only see each other at practice or games, where they can be professionals and pretend everything’s the same as it always was, that everything’s fine. They can pretend the world hasn’t come crashing down around them.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 165





	is it killing you, like it's killing me?

**Author's Note:**

> helloooo this was a twt thread i started that evolved into a monster that i've been working on for quite a while now, so here we are.
> 
> title from (and story heavily inspired by) "the story of us" by taylor swift!

Atsumu is nervous. 

He’s just arrived at the small ramen shop located down the street from the gym the Jackals use to practice, where the team is meeting for dinner to celebrate their latest win.

Warm air envelops him as he pushes the door open, and he instantly spots his teammates crowded around a table in the corner. Even if he hadn’t seen them, he certainly would’ve been able to hear them. He wouldn’t be surprised if they received a noise complaint by the end of the night.

As Atsumu crosses the restaurant, nodding politely to the woman behind the counter, his eyes scan the table for a place to sit.

He has two options, an empty seat next to Bokuto and across from Hinata, or a spot at the opposite end of the table next to Kiyoomi. 

The choice is easy.

As Atsumu settles down and accepts a slap on the back from Bokuto, he steals another glance at Kiyoomi, who’s listening to Meian and Barnes tell some story.

He looks good; his skin is as clear and smooth as always, and the warm orange lights overhead make his curls shine where they’re pushed back from his forehead and tucked behind his ears. There’s a single curl that’s come loose from the rest, and it taunts Atsumu as it rests delicately on his forehead next to twin moles. His maroon pullover is flattering, the color looks nice against his skin and it hugs him in all the right places, tighter across his broad chest and shoulders. 

Atsumu  _ yearns _ .

Kiyoomi’s absently twirling his noodles around the chopsticks Atsumu knows he brought from home, and his mask is pulled down just below his mouth in order to eat. The crinkle between his brows combined with the fidgeting of his usually steady hands tells Atsumu that it’s a bad day. He wonders why Kiyoomi’s even here. 

Eventually, Atsumu tears his eyes away, and the night wears on. The team laughs and rejoices over their best plays of the day and tear into each other for their not-so-good ones, but it’s all in good fun, in the spirit of improvement.

Atsumu slurps down three bowls of ramen, the spices blazing a trail down his throat and making his nose run. He focuses on the sensations he feels, the burning of his tongue and the weight of the bowl in his hand as he lifts it to slurp up the rest of the soup, decidedly  _ not _ thinking about how Kiyoomi used to always scoff and scold him for it because  _ that’s gross, ‘Tsumu. _

He focuses on Bokuto’s shoulder brushing against his own, because they’re squeezed around a table that’s definitely not big enough for a whole team of beefy pro-athletes to fit, and he focuses on Hinata’s laugh and Inunaki’s snort at whatever joke Bokuto just made.

Atsumu focuses on whatever he can to distract himself from the strange feeling clawing at his chest and attempting to crawl out of his throat. It’s the feeling he always gets when he sees Kiyoomi now.

Usually, it’s not so bad. They typically only see each other at practice or games, where they can be professionals and pretend everything’s the same as it always was, that everything’s fine. They can pretend the world hasn’t come crashing down around them. 

And maybe for Kiyoomi, it hadn’t.

They play the same as they always did, still completely in tune with each other in every way, able to read the other like a book. But now, there’s no flirtatious jabs or criticism, no lingering high fives or walks home together, bumping shoulders as they discuss what to have for lunch or dinner. Neither of them stays for extra practice with Bokuto and Hinata on the same days anymore, silently settling into a routine where they alternate in order to avoid each other.

It's been two weeks since Atsumu has seen Kiyoomi outside of volleyball. 

It’s been two weeks since Atsumu and Kiyoomi broke up. 

Even thinking about it now is enough to cause a lump in Atsumu’s throat. It was over something petty, a simple miscommunication that led to nuclear fallout. Atsumu still remembers every word they said, remembers the look on Kiyoomi’s face when he uttered the words that brought Atsumu’s world crashing down, and the shape of his shoulders as he shoved clothes and other belongings into his duffle bag and stormed out of Atsumu’s apartment.

Now the walls that used to separate them, before they tore them down month by month with gentle hands dripping in trust and care and  _ love _ , have been rebuilt anew, seemingly ten times stronger than before. 

The night ends uneventfully, with the team slowly trickling out (Kiyoomi is one of the first to go, like always) with slaps on the back and promises to see each other at practice on Monday since they had the next two days off. 

Kiyoomi hadn’t spared him a glance the entire night.

Feeling drained, Atsumu drags himself back to his apartment at the Jackals complex and throws himself into bed without changing out of the clothes he’s been wearing since he showered after the match. As he drifts off to sleep, he can’t help but imagine Kiyoomi’s voice in his mind, demanding for him to take a proper shower and change or else he’d be sleeping on the couch. 

The next time Atsumu and Kiyoomi see each other, it’s only a few days later and from opposite ends of a grocery aisle. Atsumu spots him first and hurriedly pulls down the baseball cap he’s wearing to cover his eyes, trying to shrink into his hoodie as he begrudgingly moves closer in order to grab what he needs and hopefully not be spotted.

Apparently, today isn’t his lucky day, because out of the corner of his eye he sees Kiyoomi glance over and notice him. Atsumu’s heart begins to race and anxiety floods his veins, but it’s gone as quickly as it came, because Kiyoomi promptly turns in the other direction and speed-walks out of the aisle. 

Atsumu sighs, and doesn’t see Kiyoomi again.

A month after Atsumu and Kiyoomi’s breakup comes Inunaki’s birthday. The team had all come together to plan a surprise party for him with Adriah hosting since his apartment had the most space. 

Atsumu had to admit that he was looking forward to it. A party was a welcome distraction from his inner turmoil, a chance for him to let loose and just have some fun with his closest friends, leaving his worries behind for the night. Sure, Kiyoomi would be there, but that’s because he basically  _ had _ to be as a member of the team, and Meian wouldn’t allow him to be so rude as to miss it. Kiyoomi wouldn’t allow himself to be either, because even though he’s blunt, straightforward, he still has proper manners that had been drilled into him by his parents. Atsumu didn’t think it would be too hard to avoid him as long as he stayed in the crowd, knowing Kiyoomi would be somewhere off to the side where there was little to no chance of anyone accidentally bumping into him or sloshing miscellaneous liquids on him while they dance and chat.

It takes Atsumu an hour to get ready. He showers and takes the time to style his hair as he does every day, but perhaps puts in a little more effort than usual to accomplish a “messy but stylish” look. He doesn’t feel the need to get too dressed up, knowing the party’s unofficial dress code was casual since it would just be Inunaki’s close friends and family there, so he wears a cropped graphic tee, his favorite jeans, and sneakers.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Atsumu _ knows _ how good he looks, his toned stomach exposed and jeans hugging his legs nicely. He pushes down the pathetic part of him that hopes Kiyoomi will notice.

The party appears to be in full swing when Atsumu arrives with Hinata, who suggested they catch a ride together to save money since they were coming from the same place. The decorations are minimal, a simple birthday banner hangs on one wall with a few streamers, and the lights are dim, creating a relaxed atmosphere. Music is playing just loud enough for you to have to shout to be heard over it. Hinata immediately disappears into the sea of people in Adriah’s living room, leaving behind Atsumu who wanders off to the kitchen in search of a drink to kick the night off.

Then, he drifts back to the main room and slinks into the crowd, quickly finding Inunaki in the midst of a conversation with Bokuto, Akaashi, and a couple of others Atsumu doesn’t recognize. He thinks they might be some of Inunaki’s friends from home. 

“Inu-san, happy birthday!” Atsumu flings an arm around Inunaki’s shoulder and drags him close, squeezing him unnecessarily tight in some semblance of a hug just to laugh at the way the libero wheezes a little. 

“Oi! You’re choking me,” Inunaki jerks away, but he’s laughing. “What’ll happen when you kill the birthday boy?” 

“I’ll be rewarded for my kind services to the world,” Atsumu smirks and he and Bokuto laugh loudly at Inunaki’s glare. 

The group chats for a while, with Atsumu and Inunaki telling Akaashi funny stories about Bokuto at practice and before and after games. In return, Akaashi tells  _ them _ funny stories about him from back in high school. Luckily, Bokuto doesn’t seem to mind and laughs right along with them at his own antics. 

After a while, Atsumu unconsciously begins to scan the crowd around him, not really sure what he’s looking for until he finds it in the form of a tall, handsome spiker sporting a mask and attempting to blend into the shadows.

Kiyoomi looks  _ good _ ; he’s wearing a black button-up with the sleeves neatly folded halfway up his arms, dark jeans, and black leather boots. When he lifts a hand to pull down his mask and take a sip from the bottle he’s holding, the silver rings on his fingers glint and make Atsumu’s heart race. 

Leaning casually against the wall, one leg crossed over the other and hugging his own arms, Kiyoomi would appear, to anyone who didn’t know him, a curly-headed mystery man, the epitome of  _ cool and collected _ . 

Painfully, the sight reminds Atsumu of how they often used to spend parties, back when they were still together. Kiyoomi would drape himself against a wall, much like he has tonight, drink in hand and mask securely in place over his nose and mouth, but the difference was that he’d also wind his arm around Atsumu’s waist from behind, or even just hook a finger into one of his belt loops to keep him close. Atsumu would lean back against him as he socialized with the friends, family, and strangers alike who ventured to their corner of the room. It was casually intimate, both of them content with their positions. Kiyoomi was able to avoid the crowd without having to be alone, and Atsumu was able to indulge in PDA with his boyfriend while still being involved with the party. 

Now, Atsumu watches as a young man saunters up to Kiyoomi and seemingly strikes up a conversation. Kiyoomi’s eyes widen a fraction,  _ he probably thought he’d be intimidating enough that no one would approach him _ , but Atsumu sees the way his mask shifts on his face, indicating that Kiyoomi is responding. He’s nothing if not polite. 

Suddenly, the beverage in Atsumu’s hand tastes sour as he watches the stranger and Kiyoomi interact. He’s standing a  _ bit _ too close for Atsumu’s liking, and Kiyoomi isn’t even moving away like he normally would. If he’s been here a while, there’s a good chance he’s had enough to drink to lower his inhibitions until he hits that sweet “no concerns” spot he has when intoxicated.

Atsumu’s skin tingles, but he has to remind himself it’s not his business. He’s not Kiyoomi’s boyfriend anymore, not responsible for him in any way, so who cares if some guy chats him up at a party. Who cares if he lets him stand that close, practically breathing the same air, in a secluded corner of the room. 

Finally, Atsumu tears his eyes away and excuses himself from the group in order to venture back to the kitchen for another drink, preferably something strong. 

A few hours later, Atsumu has ultimately only managed to get tipsy while Kiyoomi is damn-near wasted. He sways on the spot, maybe trying to move in time with the pulsing music, but he’s horribly offbeat and it makes him look pretty stupid. Atsumu wants nothing more than to walk over there and steady him, hold him by the waist and guide him into swaying in the proper rhythm. 

And a few minutes later, Atsumu does walk over. But it’s not to offer Kiyoomi a dance, oh no, it’s to drag away the stranger who’s been lurking around him the entire night and who is now very clearly invading Kiyoomi’s personal space. He’s got a palm against the wall next to Kiyoomi’s head, body half-shielding him from the room as he stands with mere inches between them while they talk. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t seem concerned by the proximity, but Atsumu is. If Kiyoomi is allowing a total stranger to get this close, to blatantly breach his well-established personal bubble as he slides a likely filthy hand down to grip Kiyoomi’s wrist lightly, then Kiyoomi is probably drunker than he should be, and should get home before anything happens that could trigger him or that he may regret.

“Hey, man, give him some space,” Atsumu calmly lays a hand on the stranger’s shoulder and pulls him back, going for a pleasant smile even as his insides swell with emotion as Kiyoomi’s eyes drift from the stranger to him, and his eyebrows lift.

“And who are you?” The stranger quirks an eyebrow, still not moving away from Kiyoomi.

“Just a concerned friend of Kiyoomi’s,” Atsumu trips over the word friend, but the man doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Well Sakusa-san seems fine to me,” The stranger’s eyes slide back to Kiyoomi, who stares at Atsumu with his infamous blank expression and hard eyes. 

Atsumu rolls his eyes and gently pries the stranger’s fingers off of Kiyoomi, replacing them with his own and saying, “Omi, I think that you should get home, ya seem pretty drunk.”

He pulls Kiyoomi’s body away from the wall and catches Kiyoomi’s other arm when he stumbles a little, keeping him from falling. 

“I’m fine,” Kiyoomi speaks up for the first time since Atsumu walked over. He weakly pushes himself away from Atsumu and leans a hand on the wall to steady himself, “Go away, Miya.”

Atsumu’s heart pangs at Kiyoomi’s use of his last name, but he ignores it and insists, “You’re not fine, I can tell. Let me help you get home.”

“If he doesn’t wanna go, you can’t make him,” The stranger speaks up, watching the pair in front of him with an analytical look in his eyes. Atsumu can’t bring himself to think too hard about why that may be. 

He ignores the guy, and carefully grabs Kiyoomi by the elbow, pulling him away to find Inunaki and thank him for the night and say goodbye. This time Kiyoomi doesn’t resist, mumbling a goodbye to the strange man and then silently stumbling along next to Atsumu.

It only takes a few minutes of pushing through people and subconsciously shifting his body to shield Kiyoomi from the crowd until Atsumu finds Inunaki by the window, seemingly in deep conversation with Adriah and Meian. 

The latter is the first to notice them, and his eyebrows shoot up at the two of them together, eyes dropping to where Atsumu is basically holding Kiyoomi up by the arm. 

Atsumu sees the question forming on his lips before it escapes, and quickly cuts him off, “We’re heading out, I’m gonna help Omi here get home ‘cause he’s pretty drunk.”

Then, he turns to Inunaki and half-bows, “Thanks for the party, and happy birthday again.”

Kiyoomi, who had dazedly been allowing his eyes to wander across the room, finally snaps back to focus on Inunaki, and says, “Thank you for inviting me, I hope you had a nice birthday.”

Inunaki smiles warily at them and says, “No problem, guys. Get home safe.”

After bidding goodbye to Meian and Adriah as well, Atsumu leads Kiyoomi across the apartment and out the door, making sure he doesn’t trip as they descend two flights of stairs, and then they’re outside with the cool air slamming into them.

They walk, because Kiyoomi’s apartment is only a few blocks from Adriah’s (he opted out of living in the Jackals complex,  _ for sanitary reasons, but mostly for the sake of my sanity _ , as he had once told Atsumu), and by the time they’re halfway there, Kiyoomi seems to have sobered up considerably. He unceremoniously pulls out of Atsumu’s grip and reaches into his pocket where he pulls out a small bottle of hand sanitizer, squirting a sizable dollop into his hand and stretching his arm to offer some to Atsumu. Shocked, Atsumu accepts and rubs his hands together diligently. 

Silence lingers between them, and it’s not exactly uncomfortable, but it’s still not pleasant, to say the least.

Atsumu deliberately does not think about how this is the first time they’ve been alone together in over a month, and gnaws anxiously on his lips. He lets his eyes wander across the street, fighting the overwhelming urge to glance back at Kiyoomi again.

When they reach the security gate outside Kiyoomi’s complex, he turns to Atsumu and says, “Thanks, Miya. Get home safe.”

Then, he uses his knuckles to punch in the security code (the code he gave to Atsumu once upon a time, when the one-bedroom apartment on the third floor basically became  _ theirs _ ) to unlock the gate and disappears into the building before Atsumu has a chance to react.

The next day, Atsumu wallows.

They only have one day between the party and their next practice, and he takes advantage of the brief time off to sulk around his apartment, sprawled on the couch with the curtains pulled tight, giving the illusion of living in a cave with only Netflix playing on his television as a source of light. The only thing he manages to eat that day is a few leftover onigiris from the last time he saw Osamu, and by the team he moves from the couch to the bed that night without taking a shower first, his stomach is rumbling in protest.

The entire day, he can’t get Kiyoomi out of his mind. It’s not like anything remarkable had happened last night, not like there was some divine intervention to mend their severed ties. No, it had been quite  _ normal _ , he supposed, and that’s what was so strange. The casual way that Kiyoomi gave him his thanks, offered him his sanitizer without a word, was bizarre to Atsumu, who at least expected a little more hostility after he’d dragged Kiyoomi away from the party, insisting on  _ taking care of him _ even though he didn’t have the right to do so anymore.

Thinking about what this could mean for them is what has driven Atsumu into his current state. He isn’t getting his hopes up, not over some bare minimum, drunken interaction, but he ponders how Kiyoomi feels about them now. Was it a bit of an olive branch, an attempt to somewhat bridge the gap between them so they can at least return to being civil enough to move forward with their, strictly platonic and professional, relationship? Was it just out of habit, mere instinct when Kiyoomi used the sanitizer for himself, to offer it to Atsumu as well? Was he just being polite when he thanked Atsumu, or was it meant to be taken as something more?

Atsumu can’t help but overthink the possibilities. He ignores the rational part of his brain which tells him that it probably meant nothing. It’s not like Kiyoomi was someone who regularly operated with ulterior motives, he was blunt and straight-forward with his thoughts and actions.

Atsumu groans and buries his head under his pillows.

Practice the next day is the same as always, with Kiyoomi and Atsumu in perfect sync on the court and not speaking off of it. The tension between them has long-since faded, as was necessary to carry on as teammates, quickly replaced with sheer apathy.

Before, it didn’t bother Atsumu. He kept his pain buried deep inside and never let it show around anyone other than Osamu and Suna, who he’d cried to more times in the past month or so than he cared to admit.

Now, after the party, it’s driving Atsumu insane.

Now that he’s seen the potential between them to return to some semblance of normalcy, it really irks him to see Kiyoomi still not uttering a word to him or even acknowledging him except for when he shouts “Miya!” on the court, demanding a set. It irks him to see Kiyoomi act like he just  _ doesn’t care _ . 

After practice ends, Atsumu is in the locker room getting dressed after his shower, the last of his teammates trickling out, and with them taking the noisy chatter and laughter that echoes on the concrete walls. The last, except for Kiyoomi.

Typically, Kiyoomi is the first to shower, wanting to wash away his drying sweat as soon as possible after practice is complete without the germs of his fellow teammates already contaminating the stalls. But if he’s not first, he has to be last. He thoroughly wipes down the stall and showers alone, after waiting until everyone else is gone for fear of being judged (he wouldn’t be, of course, but the insecurity was there nonetheless). Atsumu never understood why he didn’t just return home to shower if it bothered him that much, but eventually figured that Kiyoomi would rather brave the public showers than track dirt and germs from the gym alongside his own grime into his sacred, clean home.

Jerking out of his thoughts, Atsumu pulls on his MSBY sweatshirt and gathers up the last of his things and stuffs them into his duffle bag. A few lockers away, Kiyoomi is doing the same, drying his hair and then neatly folding his towel and placing it in a plastic bag which then goes into his own duffle. They make eye contact for a brief moment, but Atsumu quickly turns away.

“See you tomorrow,” Kiyoomi says, bag slung over his shoulder and already halfway to the door.

He doesn’t really know what causes it, but Atsumu finally snaps.

“Can you stop?”

Kiyoomi freezes, and looks over his shoulder at Atsumu with slightly wide eyes, “Stop what?”

“This,” Atsumu gestures between them, “Why are you doing this?”

Kiyoomi turns fully to face him, eyes narrowing as he says, “Doing  _ what _ , Miya?”

“This entire time, we haven’t even seen or spoken to each other outside of volleyball. Not a word. And now you do a one-eighty and you’re acting the same way you did before...” Atsumu hesitates, but only for a second, “Before we were together.  _ Why? _ ”

“What do you mean,  _ why _ ? I’m just trying to go back to normal, there’s no point in being so cold with each other. We’re still teammates after all and communication is important in volleyball, so we should at least try to be civil.” Kiyoomi says, annoyed, like it’s obvious.

“Well if ya wanted to be civil, then why’d ya spend this whole time acting like you don’t even care one way or the other?” Atsumu throws his hands in the air, his emotions raging through him, and his confusion still not dissipating. 

“Well, you were worse. It’s not like you were making any attempts to speak to me, you pretended like I didn’t even exist,” Kiyoomi bites back, child-like.

“Don’t try and make this some competition to see who cares less,” Atsumu grumbles, eyebrows furrowed as he fights back the tears welling in his eyes. The last thing he wants to do right now is cry in front of Kiyoomi. 

“I'm not making anything a competition. This whole time I’ve been trying to  _ convince myself _ that I don’t care,” Kiyoomi snaps again, frustration seeping into his voice. His arms are crossed defensively over his chest, jaw clenched in that oh-so-familiar way and his face turned to the side like it pains him to look at Atsumu. “If I don’t care, it won’t hurt so much.”

Atsumu feels like he’s drifting, “If it hurts so bad, then why didn’t you come back?” 

“Why didn’t you?” Kiyoomi shoots back in lieu of an answer.

“I’m not the one who left in the first place!” Atsumu snaps. 

Finally, Kiyoomi looks at him, their eyes meeting for the first time since they began arguing. 

Time seems to stand still as they stare at each other, not speaking. Atsumu doesn’t even dare to blink as his eyes search Kiyoomi’s face, a face he’s practically more familiar with than his own, looking for anything to soothe the ache in his bones or calm the pounding of his heart. 

Atsumu reminisces on the past few weeks, the past forty-one days he’s spent without Kiyoomi by his side, humming while he makes his tea, or passing hand sanitizer and a mask to him after practice, or latching onto him like a koala when they climb into bed for the night, limbs tangled and his nose pressed into Atsumu’s neck, curls tickling his chin. 

Atsumu reminisces on the past forty-one days, where he felt absolutely miserable, especially in the beginning, when he was holed up in his apartment after taking several sick days off from practice, surviving on matcha and cereal until he finally called and told Osamu what happened. He and Suna came over that day to whip him back into shape with onigiri, a shower, and Mario Kart 8. 

Atsumu never wants to feel that way again. Right now, as he watches Kiyoomi blink back his own tears, a frown marring his pretty face and carving deep lines into his usually smooth skin, he desperately wishes that everything could go back to the way it was before. 

“Omi, can we-“ Atsumu cuts himself off and swallows thickly, changing his mind on what he wants to say. He settles on, “I’m sorry. For what happened.”

The dam breaks, and Kiyoomi’s face finally crumples as his tears fall. He tilts his head down and brings a hand up to cover his eyes, shielding himself from Atsumu, “I’m the one who should be saying sorry. This was all my fault, ‘Tsumu.”

He lets out a small sob then, and Atsumu’s heart breaks even further, having never seen Kiyoomi cry like  _ this _ . He takes a tentative step forward, hand outstretched to give Kiyoomi time to push him away. When he doesn’t, Atsumu pulls him into his arms and wraps him in the tightest hug he’s ever given, beginning to cry in earnest when Kiyoomi immediately unravels and curls around him in return, body shaking.

They stand like that for several minutes, crying and clinging to each other as if they were each other’s lifelines. 

Maybe they were. 

After a while, Atsumu finally pulls back just enough to meet Kiyoomi’s puffy eyes, lifting his hands to gently wipe away the tears still falling down his cheeks but now at a much slower pace. 

Kiyoomi sniffles, and mutters, “This is so gross.”

Atsumu chuckles wetly, “Yeah, sorry for getting snot on your sweater.”

Kiyoomi’s nose wrinkles but he doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at Atsumu and running a hand through his hair, dragging his fingertips over the buzzed part at the top of Atsumu’s neck. 

Atsumu sighs and lets his eyes slip shut, leaning his forehead against Kiyoomi’s, “Please don’t leave me again,” he whispers, feeling another tear fall. 

Kiyoomi’s hand slides down to the back of Atsumu’s neck, a comforting weight which keeps him close as he says, “I won’t. But there’s a lot we need to talk about.” 

He brushes his nose softly against Atsumu’s, and warmth blooms in Atsumu’s chest at the affectionate touch, “I know.”

Kiyoomi hums, then says, “Atsumu, can I kiss you?”

Atsumu’s heart speeds up and without opening his eyes or moving an inch he whispers, “Yeah.”

Kiyoomi gently takes hold of Atsumu’s face and closes the already small gap between their lips, and Atsumu melts.

He shifts to wrap his arms around Kiyoomi and clings to him, pressing harder into the kiss and letting his emotions pour out of him, more tears slipping down his cheeks even as his heart soars. 

Kiyoomi tastes like toothpaste and the sports drink he had at practice, like salt from their tears, but most of all, he tastes like home. 

Atsumu missed him so much. 

He knows things won’t be perfect; it won’t be easy for them to slip back into their previous routine and adapt to each other again after breaking apart so suddenly, so violently. But he also knows that he’s willing to fight for it, to do whatever it takes to make things better, make them work, because he’s in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi and could never imagine a life without him. 

And at that moment, wrapped up in his lover’s arms once again, what brings Atsumu the most comfort is knowing that Kiyoomi feels the same way.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u sm for reading, i hope you enjoyed!! <3
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/KIYOOMlGF) if u want and we can shout abt sakuatsu!


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